


Black and White Reruns

by northerndanpour (nagirci)



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF), Video Blogging & YouTube RPF
Genre: Amnesia, Angst, Fluff, I'm posting all these instead of doing my homework love me, Idk if that's a trigger but I'll warn u anyway, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-22
Updated: 2014-04-22
Packaged: 2018-01-20 09:47:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1506020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nagirci/pseuds/northerndanpour
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Imagine your OTP where person A plays piano in their free time. When person A gets into a horrible accident, they’re left with amnesia. Person B visits them every day and talks to them even though person A no longer remembers them. When person B finds a piece written by person A for them, they teach themselves to play it, and one day they perform it for person A in the hospital.<br/>Person A recognizes the tune, and it brings back memories of person B."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Black and White Reruns

**Author's Note:**

> ??? i wrote this one night instead of being productive

The piano sits against a wall in Dan’s room, slowly gathering dust from disuse. It’s funny how quickly things like that can happen; Phil remembers how, just a couple or so weeks ago, he could hear the damaged instrument being played loudly through the apartment, still managing to make a wonderful sounds despite the fact that it wasn’t exactly in full working order. Of course, there’s nothing special about the piano itself – it’s a baby grand, with the same black and white keys as any piano has, and produces the same broken sounds as it always has. But the piano, despite being nothing extraordinary, is astoundingly so in its own little way.

Without that piano, Phil wouldn’t have those moments where he walks past the room, hearing the string of notes steal their way through the closed wooden door and smiling to himself because he can hear it, and because he is never normally allowed to listen. He wouldn’t have those moments, however rare they already are, where he’ll sit down at that piano and have Dan’s hands guide his own, both of them hovering their hands above the keys at the end and let the ringing sounds slowly fade. He wouldn’t have those moments where he finds himself peering into the room and seeing Dan sat there, busily scribbling learned notes on a piece of paper and filing the apartment with a distinct kind of music.

But now a different kind of music fills Phil’s mind. A music that isn’t music at all, but is in fact the soundtrack to his nightmares.

Screams. Breaking glass. Crushing metal. A clash of sounds that morph to form a nightmarish symphony. Sounds that send shivers up and down Phil’s spine at the most unexpected of moments, maybe when he’s trying to distract himself by scrolling through Tumblr, or when he’s cooking without that familiar pair of arms sneaking around his waist as the food cooks, or when he’s curled up in bed, dancing in that limbo between consciousness and sleep. He’ll hear the song that isn’t a song at all, and he’ll find himself lost in it for just a moment as it jars him from what he’s doing, and he’ll find himself with silent tears streaming down his face at the thought of what that monotone melody took from him.

And now, instead of the music that Phil is used to, that piano emits only a deadpan silence. It feels like an invasion to touch it, let alone to bring back the music that used to flow through the apartment. It feels like irreverence, it feels like a disgusting crime to touch something that does not belong to him. This is  _Dan’s_  piano, an instrument that he can’t play anyway. And however broken it may be, and however much dust it might be gathering, Phil can barely even bring himself to look at it anymore because it’s not his place, and because it’s not what he does, and because it just plain hurts too much.

Every day, he’s been to the hospital. Not a single day has been missed since the crash. And even though Dan sometimes forgets his face, and sometimes has to fumble for his name, Phil can’t give up. He’s told Dan the basics, and seen his eyes light up for just a fraction of a second with what he hopes is a memory, but instead is just acknowledgement. He knows that Dan’s in there though,  _somewhere_ , because he can see him there. Behind the frightened eyes that have now come to haunt Phil’s dreams, lies the man that Dan was before, and Phil needs to let him out, but he  _doesn’t know how_.

The nurses say to give him time, but Phil doesn’t know how long he can wait. He knows that he’s lucky to still have Dan with him, after everything, but he doesn’t know how he can cope without Dan knowing who he is without what he’s been told. To Dan, Phil is just the sweet boy with the dark blue hair who comes to visit him every day. To him, Phil is just the person who fluffs his pillows when he finds himself shyly asking or summoning a nurse when he’s in pain. To him, Phil is just the nice man that tells him things about and shows him pictures, trying to remind him of the person he was before, the person who is now trapped in the past.

And Dan sees the sadness that lurks in Phil’s eyes behind the encouraging smiles and warm words. He sees the flickers of disappointment that come when Dan doesn’t remember something, even though he tries so hard to remember. He sees the tears that mist over Phil’s eyes sometimes, and he wishes he knew what makes Phil so sad. He thinks that maybe if he knew, he could help Phil solve the problem. But the more he looks, the more he begins to think that Phil’s problem is something to do with him, is his fault, and then he has to stop because he thinks that Phil will be even sadder to see him like that. And he doesn’t want to make Phil any worse. So he doesn’t say that, any of it, and just acts as though he hasn’t been thinking about it at all.

He’s always been a good actor.

The piano still sits against a wall in Dan’s room, and as the weeks pass, Phil finds himself just wondering, not acting on it, but wondering if Dan remembers anything about it. Those evenings that he spent leaning against the wall in the hallway, listening to Dan play from inside his room, those were just a few of the tiny highlights in his life before the angry concerto of screams, crushing metal, breaking glass stole that all away from him, from _them_. But somehow, even with the adrenalin of hope, he still can’t bring himself to touch it; he still can’t force a melody out of it. So he merely shakes his head and dispels the thought, carrying on through the day as best as he can with the onslaught of those noises reverberating through his mind.

The doctors say that all it needs is a trigger. Something that he still remembers, something that’ll jog his memory, if only even slightly. Even just a tiny step can mean a mile; even just a miniscule spark can ignite a fire. And well, all Phil can do is guess and hope. Guess things to say and things to show, and hope Dan will recognise even just one of them. But each day passes, and Dan doesn’t remember, and Phil has to keep back the discontent he feels at another day gone without the Dan he knows and loves. Because he knows, no matter how hard he wishes he didn’t, that this Dan is not his Dan. This Dan is a stranger, a shadow of who he used to be.

Dan knows that he’s a disappointment. He tries, and he tries, but his mind is blank and full of useless things that don’t matter. And he knows that Phil doesn’t mind, not really, but he can’t stop himself from wondering if he does. Because even though he doesn’t know Phil, even though the past few weeks are the only times he recalls seeing his face, something stirs inside him every time that he looks into his eyes or hears his laugh, forced or not. And it scares him a little bit to think he feels something for this stranger, but he knows that he isn’t a stranger at all. So he tries and tries not to disappoint, but he always does, and it’s getting frustrating.

And for all those weeks, the piano stays against the wall, slowly being coated with a fine layer of dust. And even though Phil is getting used to its almost wraithlike presence in the apartment he still can’t touch it, because it feels like he’s defiling a shrine.

It’s one dismal Saturday evening, after Phil has returned from another unyielding day at the hospital and is now distracting himself by cleaning the apartment for the fiftieth time since the incident, that something remarkable happens. Well, remarkable depending on how you look at it. It might not be much, and it certainly doesn’t seem that way to Phil at the time, but it’s amazing nonetheless. Because, as Phil trails around Dan’s room with a hoover and other cleaning materials in tow, he finds himself opening what Dan calls his “drawer of miscellaneous crap”. He doesn’t do it to pry, of course, and he certainly doesn’t want to find anything – just see if there’s anything in there that might help.

The first thing that greets Phil is the bright white, upturned sheet of paper that sits on top of the pile of items in the drawer. He doesn’t mean to read it, just in case it’s private, but he can’t stop himself from letting his eyes flicker down the page. And what he sees makes his heart stop for just a second, he swears it. The room begins to spin and Phil has to sit down on Dan’s bed, letting his eyes flicker up to the piano, because what is in front of him is a list of notes and chord combinations, with a very hastily written “For Phil” at the top of the sheet.

It’s a song. A song for him.

The world around him stops suddenly, and before Phil can get a hold of himself, his legs are propelling him toward the piano that hasn’t been played in a fortnight, that hasn’t broken the silence in the apartment for two weeks. He doesn’t know what he’s doing, and he’s trying to stop himself, but his body isn’t complying with his brain, because there is something in his gut telling him that he wants to do this, even if he’s telling himself that he doesn’t. It’s Dan’s piano, it’s  _Dan’s_  piano, it’s not for Phil to use. Phil can’t touch it, he’s sure he can’t, he’s sure he won’t be able to.

But the thing is, he can. The only thing stopping him is himself, the painted image in his mind of Dan being upset about it. Would Dan even care anymore? He never seemed to when he was the one directing Phil’s hands over the keys, showing him which notes to play and when to use the pedals. And Phil might not be as qualified as Dan, but the way he’s written it, the song doesn’t look too difficult. It might be, Phil hasn’t attempted it yet, but he doesn’t know. He’s thankful that Dan can’t read staff notation, or else Phil wouldn’t have a hope in hell. The letters that sprawl across the page, symbolising notes, just make life a little easier.

He sits in the chair in front of the piano, not even bothering to think about its ridiculous shape, and for the first time alone, spreads his hands over the keys. They feel foreign under his fingers as he carefully sweeps them along the keyboard, wiping away the dust that has clouded there. It already feels wrong, so wrong, without Dan there leading him, but it feels oddly right too. He doesn’t know how so, but it almost feels as if Dan is standing behind him, and the thought of him standing there somehow encourages Phil to press the first key, the sound making him jump at first, until it’s eventually joined by the others as he sighs out a deep breath.

And somehow, he swears that he can feel Dan’s arms around him, carefully shepherding his wrists to the right places as the music slowly starts to take shape, and somehow, he swears that he feels whole.

*~*~*~*~*

Dan’s allowed home halfway through the third week, with about a truckload of painkillers and strict instructions to take it easy. He’s told for the thousandth time that he’s extremely lucky he survived. And Phil is told all the same things, along with the order to not give up on Dan’s memory, that even the smallest thing could trigger a memory. He just needs time; time heals all wounds, no matter how deep. How much time, well, they say that it’s hard to tell. It depends on several things, but the main thing is that Phil is patient. It could take a week, it could take a year, it could take more or less than those. But he needs to wait, and eventually, it’ll all be okay.

The first day is probably the hardest. Dan walks through the door cautiously, warily eyeing every unfamiliar corner, because this place feels both new and familiar at the same time, and he doesn’t like it. The feelings are too close together for him to be comfortable, and so he just sits, hovering carefully around Phil when he has to use the bathroom or get something to eat for fear of getting lost. Until it’s long past time for bed, and Phil guides him to his room and carefully tucks him in, upset in the knowledge that he’ll be sleeping alone tonight.

And it eases as a couple of days pass, and then a week, but it still isn’t the same. Phil doesn’t get kissed when he acts like a moron, he doesn’t feel those loving arms slither around his waist while he cooks dinner, he doesn’t hold the boy close to him when they watch the TV. Dan slowly starts to get more acquainted with the house and isn’t nearly as uncomfortable, because there are certain flashes of things that he remembers, but he and Phil aren’t the same, and no matter how strong the feeling is that he does still love Phil, he doesn’t act on it, because Phil is still a stranger. He laughs and jokes with him, he does all the things a friend would do, but nothing more than that.

But halfway through the second week, a call of “Phil?” sounds through the apartment, wafting through Dan’s half-open door. And immediately, Phil’s on the alert, because Dan sounds confused yet oddly reminiscent, as if he doubts something to have happened. Phil doesn’t know what it is, it could be anything, but it does sound like there’s a memory backing those words. It’s a step, if anything, and Phil will take whatever he’s presented with at this time. “Yeah?” He calls back edging down the corridor toward Dan’s room. He’s trying to mask the note of hope that resonates in his voice, trying not to get too excited, just in case it does turn out to be nothing.

Dan sticks his head out from behind his door, smiling some when he sees Phil approaching. There’s something in his eyes, and Phil doesn’t exactly know what it is, but it lurks amongst the brown and almost makes him feel uncomfortable, as if Dan knows something that he doesn’t. It’s not any recollection of anything, at least, Phil doesn’t think it is, but it’s definitely enlightened. He beckons Phil into the room with a lazy wave of his hand, and frowning in slight confusion, Phil warily follows, until he’s actually in the room. Then, he stops dead.

Propped up above the keys, he swears that he sees a sheet of paper with the words “For Phil” printed messily at the top. And just a second too late, it clicks in Phil’s brain as Dan says “Can you play it? Or teach me to play it?”

Phil hesitates. It still feels wrong, so wrong, to touch that piano without his Dan there with him. It feels like he’s dirtying a holy place, something reverent that should remain undisturbed. It feels like who Dan used to be is encompassed by that piano, and to play it like he did a mere fortnight or so ago feels inappropriate. It felt awful then, even if he did manage to learn and get to the end of the song. But the innocence of the question is soft in Phil’s ears, and he knows that this is Dan, and he knows that this could help. So, maybe slightly begrudgingly, he nods and sits in the chair when Dan gestures for him to do so.

Internally, he’s so uncomfortable, and he’s freaking out, and he doesn’t know what to do. He doesn’t know if he should have agreed, he didn’t want to agree. But he does know that Dan has asked him to do this, and that it’s okay because this is Dan’s piano, and that he’s just trying to think of an excuse not to do this just because it doesn’t feel right for him. So with a deep breath and a nervous grin to Dan, who returns it slightly more confidently, he places his hands on the keys and just lets them fly, like he practised all day that day.

Dan closes his eyes and lets the music flow through his mind, trying to empty his head of anything else, like how cute Phil looks when he’s trying to concentrate, with a tiny frown settled on his lips and his tongue poking out slightly, and how nervous he seems to be, which Dan really wishes he wasn’t because it’s just  _him,_ after all. And soon enough, as he lets the notes occupy the space in his mind, a real smile finds its way onto his face and he begins to slowly sway in his seat in time to the music.

_“No, Phil, that’s not quite how it goes,” Dan laughed as Phil tapped the keys discordantly, a goofy grin painting his face. A goofy grin that had become Dan’s stronghold, a goofy grin that Dan loved to see more than almost anything in the world. He couldn’t believe that he could see that smile whenever he wanted to, he couldn’t believe that he’d gotten quite that lucky. He couldn’t believe that he was lucky enough to call Phil his own. And that he was lucky enough to be there, laughing as he looked into the older man’s smiling blue eyes. The older man who then said “Show me how then, Dan.”_

_And Dan got up from his seat, standing behind Phil and taking each of his wrists gently in his own hands, placing them where they ought to be for Phil’s hands to be in the right places, and softly pushing down on them so that the keys resonated through the air musically. And he could swear that he saw Phil beam at the sound, and as he leaned into Dan’s touch and as Dan rested his chin on Phil’s head, he could feel a smile of his own pulling at his lips as he led Phil’s hands to the next position, subconsciously swaying to the music that was slowly building up._

Dan’s eyes suddenly fly open wide, and he looks at Phil almost wondrously. It takes him a moment to realise that he wasn’t just daydreaming, that he actually remembers that. That was… a memory. A  _memory!_

He smiles so widely that for a moment he thinks his face might crack in two. He’s remembered something, no matter how small, and for that he’s so proud of himself. And as he looks at Phil, he no longer sees a stranger, but someone that has been there from almost the start. Someone that he has feeling for, and now knows where those feelings stem from, even if some of the picture is still hazy. If he’s remembered this, then it can’t be long until he remembers other things, surely. And then when he has everything… oh, how elated he feels at the prospect of being  _him_  again, being  _Dan_  again!

But Phil’s still playing, and Dan can’t quite find it in his heart to interrupt him to tell him something as menial as this. He bites his lips for a moment in contemplation, before rising cautiously to his feet, standing behind Phil and hesitantly wrapping his arms around him, hands at his wrists. He tries to be as peaceful as he can, so as not to startle Phil, but the blue-eyed boy still jumps and the music jars to a halt, nearly making Dan wince. But Phil has looked up at him as best he can, looking genuinely surprised, if a little unsure.

So Dan just smiles and says, “No, Phil, that’s not quite how it goes.” And he feels Phil relax, take a deep breath in, and he sees him smile as beautifully as he did before. And he doesn’t know for sure, but he swears that he just about hears Phil murmur “Show me how then, Dan.”

The piano still sits against a wall in Dan’s room. But now, it’s no longer gathering dust.


End file.
